


Dreams for a Dollar

by castielrisingabove



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Angst, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, M/M, More tags later, Mystery, NO DEATH, Slow Burn, certain things untagged for plot reasons, witch!cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 19:14:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8680126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielrisingabove/pseuds/castielrisingabove
Summary: Castiel's a witch whose ability to craft dreams puts him at the forefront of his Coven's night shift. But all of that changes when a mysterious man by the name of Dean begins frequenting the shop...





	

It was 2 AM on a Wednesday and Castiel could say with complete and utter surety that the new sign in the window was absolutely the  _ worst _ thing Balthazar could have done. 

Normally the small magic shop was quiet these times of night. Castiel and his coven, which consisted of Balthazar, Gabriel, Anna and Hannah, all worked together to tend a small store called Heaven on Earth. Each one specialized in a different sort of magic: Balthazar covered the vengeful stuff, Hannah worked with healings, Anna mostly did future readings but dabbled in the spirit world, Gabriel covered pranks and Castiel, up until recently, was over ancient texts and spells. 

They’d come together to form their coven (known among the witching community as  _ The Angels _ ) almost seven years ago and had settled in the sleepy Seattle suburb. Their shop, called  _ Heaven on Earth _ , was designed to cover their bills and further their personal magical pursuits. The storefront was small and well used, but Castiel liked to think that perhaps the odd conglomeration of various spells, crystals and ingredients (among other things), combined with the squeaking wooden floor and fading floral wallpaper, only added to the store’s inherent charm.

Typically, they would earn just enough to scrape by, usually from fellow witches passing through the area, and a few of the hardcore hipster types. Even the fact the shop was open all hours, morning or night, had done little to incentivize others to come. It was hard, being a witch in a day and age where most people were content with trying to use Google to solve their problems.

But all that changed the moment Balthazar discovered Castiel’s hidden talent.

How was Castiel supposed to know he hadn’t told his coven he could craft dreams? He could have  _ sworn _ he’d told them, though it was very likely that revelation could have been superseded by Gabriel making an inappropriate joke. Regardless, the cat was well and truly out of the bag now and Balthazar, in the interests of making the shop money, demanded a sign be put up in the window advertising Castiel’s ability.

_ Dreams for a Dollar _

It wasn’t particularly difficult to cast a dream. A few charmed ingredients, each specifically tailored for the individual dream, were inserted into a simple cotton pouch. Castiel would then draw a sigil on the fabric (typically in charcoal, he found that added to the fuzzy, obscure quality of dreaming, but if the dream had important details, he opted for ink) and murmur a small incantation. Once at home, the dreamer would slide the dream spell under their pillow and simply fall asleep.

It couldn’t be that hard, right?

A week later, Castiel had changed his tune. He had not banked on how popular  _ dreams for a dollar _ was going to be. Not by a long shot. Of course, it wasn’t a huge change from his typical sleep schedule (since he suffered from insomnia, Castiel always took on the night shifts) but it  _ was _ a real change in his routine. Normally, the shop was dead at night, with only the occasional rare visitor, which left Castiel alone to his own devices. Some nights he’d organize, other nights he’d read and still other nights he’d practice his spellwork.

But now? All he did was craft dreams. Some of them were specific. An exhilarating dream of flying a helicopter with an attractive pilot for a bored housewife. A strange action-thriller involving dinosaurs, ghosts  _ and _ tap dancers for a stressed high school student. A grandchild’s wedding that an older gentleman feared he wouldn’t live to see. 

Thankfully, however, most dreams followed similar themes: like seeing a loved one who had passed on, or, much to Castiel’s distaste, sex. He had to make a  _ lot  _ of sex dreams, and where was the creativity in that?

But people were eating it up. It was more packed in  _ Heaven on Earth _ at 3 AM than it was at any other time, even traditional peak business hours. Hell, Cas was certain they were even taking up business from the nearby coffee shop. After all, if you just got a dream spell, the last thing you’d want to do is drink something to keep you awake. Castiel died a little inside with every new customer.

So it was true, the newfound business filled the coffers of the coven, but still... _ at what cost? _

Which is why Castiel was inwardly bemoaning this fact during a rare quiet moment at 2 AM on a Wednesday. He scrubbed the dark marble counter as he muttered colorful insults about the last set of customers, careful to clear out the sigils carved into the stone by Hannah. Castiel had just ducked his head under the counter to wipe down the wooden shelves beneath when a voice interrupted his rant.

“Um...do you sell dreams?” The voice was low, definitely had to be a man, and sounded like honey. It might have been nice, if it was not so unexpectedly booming at 2 in the morning.

It startled Castiel, sending his head crashing into the top of the marble counter. He swore loudly, wondering what moron came in  _ asking _ if they sold dreams when it so  _ clearly  _ denoted such on the sign in the window. Castiel rubbed his head as he stood, trying to clear his face of the glower that most definitely creased it (Hannah always chided that a frown a day kept the business away) as he addressed the customer.

Unfortunately, catching sight of the man only made Cas’ frown deepen. The man was tall and well built. He wore torn jeans, a soft jacket and a beanie but the  _ real _ kicker was that the asshole was wearing large sunglasses. Inside. At night. As though he couldn’t be bothered to take them off. They were aviators of all things, it wasn’t as though the man was actually blind. No  _ wonder _ he asked about the dreams, Castiel thought grumpily,  _ he can’t even read inside _ . Moron.

“Uh…” the man tugged the beanie down lower, covering his ears and obscuring the top of his ridiculously big sunglasses. “So...do you?”

“What did the sign say?” Castiel replied icily.

“...so you do?” the man asked, glancing over his shoulder nervously.

Cas sighed, “What do you think?”

“I don’t know! It’s not like I see any boxes labeled ‘dreams’ around here!” the man glanced around again, fidgeting with the zipper on his jacket, “Look, I’ll pay you double--”

“A whole two dollars,” Castiel rolled his eyes, “How generous.”

“Just  _ please _ ,” the man said, and for the first time Castiel could really detect a hint of desperation in the stranger’s voice, “Please, I need it fast. I…” he hesitated for a moment. It was hard to tell what the man was thinking, with the large sunglasses covering half his face, but the man sighed. “I just want a good night’s sleep for once, okay?”

And just like that, the stranger, regardless of what an asshole he seemed to be, won over Cas’ sympathy. He understood what it was like, laying awake in the lonely dark, wishing you could be anywhere but your own mind. Cas rubbed his brow, sighing. “What sort of dream do you want?”

“I can  _ choose?” _

The sympathy was draining quickly the more stupid questions this man asked.

“Some of the basic ones are adventure, peace, sex…”

“I’ll take a peaceful one,” the man piped up, “Something nice and chill.”

“Anything in mind?” Castiel asked, though he turned to prepare some basic ingredients. Balthazar had tried to advertise that they used mystical ingredients in a complicated process, but that just wasn’t true. Castiel grabbed a pinch of lavender to start off, dumping it into a small handmade bag.

“Um...a long drive, maybe,” the man said, “I have this car back home, a ‘67 Impala, and I used to like driving it down the country roads at night...”

Cas added a dash of mint, for travel, and a couple dried sunflower petals, which he hoped would encapsulate the sorts of scenes this man might enjoy. He worked in silence, trying to ignore the man’s eyes boring into his back (at least, that’s what he imagined was happening. It was hard to tell with the sunglasses) until the pouch was complete. He smeared the sigil, a long looping “J” shape with two short lines running perpendicular through it, like a road over a river, onto the front with charcoal with a muttered incantation before turning around to hand it to the man.

“This should be what you’re looking for,” Castiel said, handing the man the pouch. In return, the man shoved two bills into Castiel’s hand and rushed away without a single word. Castiel sighed, he was plenty used to people being rude at night, but this guy was a whole other level. He moved to tuck the bills into the cash register, eyes widening as he noticed they weren’t ones, but rather twenties. The man had just paid $40 for a $1 dream.

Castiel waited the rest of the night for the man to come back to reclaim his money, but aside from a couple exhausted college students looking for respite from their studies, nobody came.

 

\-----

 

There was much debate in the coven the following morning, well, the following sunrise, over what would be done with the extra money. Balthazar said it was karma, that their good deeds and reasonable prices were finally being rewarded. Anna took a more pragmatic approach, arguing the man might have intended to pay the excess amount out of the goodness of his heart.

In the end, Castiel insisted the $40 be set aside. They would wait 24 hours to see if the man came back for it. If nobody came, the Coven could claim the money. Not trusting Balthazar to keep his word with such a tentative agreement, Castiel tucked the bills into the front pocket of his shirt before stumbling up the old rickety shop stairs to their shared apartment, which rested above  _ Heaven on Earth _ . He collapsed onto his sunlight bed with a groan and within moments had fallen fast asleep.

The following night, Castiel was once again left to his own devices, a welcome relief since he’d spent the last 45 minutes trying to handle the incredibly specific and varying demands of a sorority insisting they have a shared dreaming experience. After much fighting and name calling, Castiel had finally settled on a complex dream they seemed to agree on, though he did  _ not _ want to know what their plans were for the toaster.

With blessed peace finally restored to the shop, Castiel found himself humming “No Room in Frame” as he worked, this time taking it upon himself to start to organize the shop’s crystals by size and color. Sure, the crystals weren’t technically in his jurisdiction, but he knew Anna would appreciate it. Besides, it was enjoyable rubbing his fingers along the smooth, cool surfaces, feeling the energy humming within the stones.

His reverie, however, was interrupted by the jangle of door chimes and a low voice: “Hey…”

Cas looked up to see the same man from the night before. This time, however, he was wearing an expensive (or so Castiel assumed) tuxedo, though the same massive sunglasses obscured his face. Castiel was a little disappointed at the sight, he’d been rather hopeful they’d be able to keep the money. 

“Hold on, let me get it,” Castiel replied dully, setting down the crystals to rummage through his shirt pocket for the bills.

It was hard to tell with the sunglasses, but Cas almost swore the man looked perplexed at the money. His next statement further corroborated Cas’ theory: “Uh...what’s that for?”

“Your $40,” Castiel explained calmly, though his brow furrowed. He brandished the bills, holding them out towards the man as though trying to trigger recognition. “You accidentally paid with twenties last night…”

“Oh…” the man sounded distracted, running his fingers through dirty blonde hair, which mussed up the gelled tousle, “I didn’t notice.”

“You didn’t  _ notice? _ ” Castiel gasped, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. What kind of person could go about their day entirely unaware they were down $38. Then again, this guy was standing in his shop wearing a bona fide tuxedo, so maybe he was just filthy rich.

Realizing he’d been staring, Castiel cleared his throat. “Well...do you want it back?”

“Keep it,” the man grunted dismissively, “I’ve paid more for worthless sleep aids. At least your dream did something!”

“That is very generous,” Castiel said, eyes widening as he tucked the bills back into his pocket. “But if you’re not here for the money...why are you here?”

The man licked his lips. “I need another dream."

“Certainly, on the house,” Castiel replied quickly, “What--”

“Christmas with the family, hold the father,” the man’s voice was brisk and businesslike, as though merely ordering a coffee, “And, uh, make it quick, okay? I don’t have all night.”

Any semblance of pity or gratitude Castiel felt towards the man vanished at that moment. Dreams, especially dreams of the quality Castiel could provide, were a  _ luxury _ , not a cheap meal from a fast food joint. Castiel, who had never been one to have the phrase “quality customer service” attributed to him, glowered. Without thinking, he slammed his hands down on the oak table housing the crystals.

He leaned forwards, ignoring the fact his recently organized stones were returned to their former state of disarray. Worse, he shot the man a look of pure fury and, in his gravely voice, growled, “My dreams are  _ not _ some cheap trick. You should show me more respect.”

Cas wasn’t sure who was more surprised by the outburst, him or the other man, who’d taken a few steps backwards.

“Don’t you know who I am?” the man asked, voice straddling the line of irritation and pure confusion.

“An entitled ass?” Castiel shot back. He’d already offended the guy, might as well get all the collective fury out while he still could, despite the fact Castiel could practically hear Hannah bemoaning the loss of such a high paying customer.

Now the man looked genuinely surprised. Slowly, he removed his sunglasses. The first thing Castiel noticed was the spray of freckles across the man’s cheeks. And then--oh--his  _ eyes _ . Green, like a meadow on a sunny day. Right now they looked weary, but Castiel found himself drawn to them, wondering what they’d look like sparkling with happiness.

“Told you,” the man said glumly, “You know who I am.”

Cas frowned, aware he was staring. Great, first he offended the guy, then moved on to flat out  _ scare _ him. Although the man seemed more concerned about knowing him (seriously, how was Castiel expected to know everyone who walked into his store?) than he was of Castiel staring. “If you mean the customer from last night, yes, I suppose I know you.”

The man’s green eyes glimmered with confusion and his soft lips sunk into a frown. “You’re serious? You don’t know who I am?”

“I make dreams,” Cas explained coolly, “I don’t read minds.” What was this guy’s problem? Was it the witch thing that lead him to believe Castiel magically knew everyone who walked into the store? Was he expecting Castiel to reveal some grand hidden secret? Perhaps he was drunk. That might explain it.

“Yeah, but…” the man gestured to himself. Cas shrugged in response, which made the other man laugh shakily. “Holy shit…” he said, almost to himself, “This is…”

“Apologies,” Castiel replied dryly. He’d seen a lot of things working the night shift, but nothing quite like this guy. Nobody seemed so shocked that he had no idea who they were. Not even the woman who insisted she was Abraham Lincoln in a past life.

“No no!” the man says giddily, “This is great! This is  _ awesome!  _ I’m uh…” he looked around the room gleefully, almost bouncing on his heels as he extended a hand to Cas, “I’m Dean, by the way!”

Castiel eyed Dean’s hand with rising levels of wariness. His siblings wouldn’t even believe the story if he told them: some guy, an incredibly attractive guy at that, in a tux, expressing massive amounts of relief that Castiel did  _ not _ know who he was. Still...it was undeniable that Dean was a very fascinating individual…

He took Dean’s hand, a calloused hand, Cas noted, and shook firmly. “Castiel,” he replied. He paused for a moment ( _ staring again _ , he scolded) before pulling himself together. “Do you still want that dream?”

Dean’s ears turned slightly pink. “Yeah...I, uh...sorry about how I acted, I just...I’m not used to…”

Castiel ignored his babblings, he was too tired for that, and set about mixing the ingredients for the Christmas dream, searching for a sprig of dried pine to toss in with the rest of the spellwork. Dean’s clumsy apology was coming a little too late, but at least the man seemed penitent. Cas shot him a look while he worked, noticing just how antsy Dean looked, fidgeting in his tuxedo and looking around the shop nervously.

“This is for being an ass,” Dean said, handing Castiel another twenty when Castiel handed him the newly made dream pouch, racing out the door before Castiel could reply. With a sigh, Castiel sent a minor sobriety spell for Dean as he left the shop. Just in case.

 

\-----

 

“Mystery man left another twenty?” Gabriel asked, flabbergasted, as Castiel set the bill down on the table, “After you told him you’d already stiffed him $38?”

The group had convened around their old kitchen table for breakfast (today it was porridge with milk, sugar, nuts and blueberries) and Castiel was called upon to recount his interactions with Dean, much to the amusement of his Coven.

“He said it was for ‘being an ass’,” Cas mumbled, miming the air quotes as he reached for a bowl of blueberries. Hannah actually gasped as she made her way out the door to the shop. The rest of the group, however, began to chuckle.

“Remind me to get you more riled up in public,” Balthazar said, ruffling Cas’ hair with a grin, “Keep this up and we’ll actually be making a tidy profit on those dreams.”

“Who cares about the profit,” Anna interjected, dumping entirely more brown sugar than was necessary into her oatmeal before running a hand through her sleep-mussed red hair, “Is mystery man hot?”

“Dean--” Cas stopped himself, feeling strangely protective of the man’s identity. After all, the guy had seemed to be keeping a low profile, “I mean...mystery man,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, “He could likely be deemed attractive by many sources.”

Gabriel snorted, grabbing the blueberries, now forgotten by Castiel, to add to his own porridge. 

“Dean, huh?” Anna teased, “Well, if his name is any indication, I’m sure he’s very good looking.”

Castiel’s brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of Anna’s logic and a hush fell over the table. He’d only gotten a couple of bites of porridge, however, when Hannah spoke up. “Trying to keep his identity secret? He could be a criminal for all we know.”

“Maybe he’s a serial killer!” Gabriel added, smirking as Hannah shot him a glare.

“Would a serial killer really want a dream about Christmas with his family, though?” Balthazar hummed, snapping his fingers to levitate the container of milk towards him. The liquid sloshed perilously close to the edge as it drifted across the table.

“Might not be dreams for him, though,” Anna pointed out, plucking the milk from the air and handing it to Balthazar before anything spilled, “He could be using the dreams as distractions for his targets or something.”

“Or he could be normal?” Cas ventured tentatively, reaching once again for the bowl of blueberries, now almost empty. 

Gabriel made a disparaging noise as he dumped a heaping spoonful of brown sugar into his half-empty bowl. “Since when have your lovers been  _ normal? _ ”

“Dean’s not my--”

“Lessee…” Gabriel interjected, “There’s Raphael…”

“That one didn’t end well,” Balthazar supplied.

“April…”

“Pure evil.”

“Meg…”

“Oh!” Balthazar exclaimed, “She kind of grew on me!”

“Enough!” Castiel burst out, slamming the bowl of blueberries onto the table with a  _ bang _ . “I am well aware of my catastrophic relationships. But I know for a fact that this ‘Dean’” he mimed Dean’s name in dramatic air quotes, “will not be one of them.” 

“Because you’ll be wrapped up in domestic bliss,” Anna sighed, prompting another round of giggles from the rest of the table. Scowling, Castiel ignored them, finishing off the remains of his porridge (still without blueberries) before making his way to bed. He needed to be well rested for the coming night shift and  _ not _ , as his siblings believed, because of Dean. 

Castiel didn’t know what to make of him anyway.

 

\-----

 

The next night, Dean didn’t arrive until 5:04 AM. Not that Castiel was expecting him. Or counting the hours until he arrived. Or doing just about anything to try and keep his mind off the fact he was wondering where Dean was at all. He’d begun to give up hope in Dean’s coming when the first glimpses of sunlight began to peek through the window, opting to clean some of the shop’s metalwork before his shift ended.

Of course, things always seemed to come when he least expected them to.

“Heya Cas!”

Castiel dropped the silver candlestick he’d been meticulously polishing. Today Dean was back to his ripped jeans, worn t-shirt combo. It looked like Dean might have running, his neck glinted with sweat and the shirt was awkwardly rolled up on one side, exposing a glimpse of his toned waistline. Cas felt vaguely sinful seeing it.

Dean, however, took Castiel’s silence to be confusion at the nickname and not...whatever it was he was feeling. “I forgot your whole name,” he admitted bashfully, “And I’ve been calling you  _ Cas _ in my head for the last day so…”

So he’d been thinking about him? Cas couldn’t help but feel a little surge of pleasure at the idea of Dean thinking about him. Dean nicknaming him. Like they were friends, instead of just owner/customer.

“Cas is fine,” Castiel replied, dragging his eyes away from the exposed skin at long last, “I assume you came for a dream?”

Dean nodded.

“Can’t say it will do much good tonight,” Castiel said, reaching for another small pouch from a shelf under the counter, “or should I say this morning?”

Dean made a face as he wandered closer to the counter. “I was...unavoidably detained.”

“How mysterious,” Castiel deadpanned, grabbing a handful of dried vervain. “Should I be expecting a call from the police in a few hours?”

“Wha-no! It’s nothing like that!” Dean’s green eyes were wide with panic as he glanced at the door and then back to Cas.

Cas chuckled as he added a pinch of sea salt to the pouch before reaching for a sprig of gardenia. It was not often that  _ he _ got to get a rise out of people and Cas had to admit, Dean’s comical expressions made him understand why Gabriel was so fond of teasing.

“...you were joking, weren’t you?” Dean said slowly, feigning grumpiness, but Cas could see his eyes sparkling. Sure enough, a moment later Dean broke into a wide grin. “Wouldn’t have pegged you as a prankster, Cas.”

Seeing the worry and exhaustion melt off Dean’s face was intoxicating. Yet another reason to tease him, apparently. “If you asked my Coven, they’d say the same thing,” he replied dryly.

“So you’re turning on the charm just for me, huh?”

Cas’ cheeks flamed and he whipped around with a pressing need to find a small sample of smoky quartz. As he rummaged through a semi-organized bin of magical objects, Castiel couldn’t help but wonder...was Dean flirting? Was  _ he? _

“You’re not the only one who can joke,” Dean’s voice filled the awkward silence that had unwittingly fallen while Castiel selected a small round shell from the mix, it was pale white with a streak of grey down the swirl, and added it to the pouch. Huh. Maybe they were just fooling around. Platonically. Like a shopkeeper and a valued customer do from time to time. 

As Castiel caught Dean’s eye, however, the latter winked. Oh. Maybe it was flirting after all. Castiel, however, was entirely too tired to try to work out the specifics of this strangely complex interaction. Worse, he realized he’d been staring. Again. In silence, no less. Thankfully, Dean spoke up. “You’re already making a dream…”

Cas frowned and nodded, confused at the observation.

“I just haven’t ordered anything yet,” Dean clarified with a shrug.

Cas looked down at the nearly completed dream and felt embarrassment curl in his stomach like a kitten in a warm beam of sunlight. He had no idea what had possessed him to start crafting the dream (little more than a sunny day on a tropical beach) aside from the strangely unwarranted notion that Dean would like it.

“Don’t tell me what it is!” Dean added hurriedly, “I want to be surprised when I go to bed.”

It took a moment for Castiel’s logic systems to process Dean’s statement. “...you want the dream?” he asked embarrassingly late as he shoved a pinch of hops into the bag before cinching it shut. 

Whether or not Dean wanted the dream, Cas knew it was worth his while to finish. After all, somebody was bound to ask for a tropical dream at some point. Still, he couldn’t help but be pleased that Dean wanted the dream anyway. Cas turned his back to grab a stick of charcoal to write the sigil, smiling to himself when he was sure Dean wasn’t looking.

“Well, your last two have given me the best sleep I’ve had in ages,” Dean said cheerfully, “I don’t see how this one could be any different.”

Castiel laughed, scrawling a neat sigil for peace and well-being onto the front of the pouch. The chimes jangled, alerting Castiel of another customer coming into the shop. It wasn’t all that surprising at this time in the morning. He usually got one or two people come in that were so tired they mistook the Coven for the coffee shop next door. Sure enough, the bell jangled again, likely as the sleep-fogged commuter realized there was no caffeinated beverages to be found inside.

“Although,” Castiel continued the conversation as he slid the pouch into a little paper bag, “I’m not entirely sure this dream will be appreciated given the sun is already starting to…”

Cas trailed off as he turned back to find Dean crammed in the corner with the ancient books. His whole body was tense, as though anticipating a fight, and he held a dusty volume of  _ History of Witchcraft _ up, as though hiding from someone. The grin slid off Castiel’s face as he approached Dean.

“...anyway,” Cas finished lamely, handing Dean the paper bag, “Your dream is done.”

Dean snatched the spell up quickly. “It’s getting late. I should go,” he muttered darkly, slapping a bill into Cas’ hand as he raced out the door without a second glance.

It would have been comical if Castiel wasn’t simultaneously offended and confused by Dean’s sudden change in demeanor. He glanced down at the bill in his hand to find it was not a $20 (as he’d come to expect) but a $100.

Maybe Dean  _ was _ a criminal.

 

\-----

 

“I don’t care what how he strange he acts, Cassie, whatever you do,” said Balthazar as he ogled the $100 bill, “Do  _ not _ lose the business of this mysteriously rich Dean.”

The two of them sat at the dining room table, waiting for both breakfast and the rest of their coven to arrive. It was a Tuesday morning, hardly busy, so the Coven planned on eating together. A bell would alert Hannah if she needed to be on shift. Hypothetically, these close-knit breakfasts were a good way to build moral, but not when it started like this.

Castiel hadn’t intended to start this conversation, but in a moment of sleepless distraction, he’d left the $100 bill on the table. Right where everyone could see it. And in their failing business, even an extra $5 could turn heads.

“Even if Dean’s a criminal?” asked Gabriel as he carried out two plates heaped to almost dangerous heights with pancakes. One plate appeared to be plain pancakes, while the other---

“Chocolate chip pancakes?” Cas couldn’t keep the disappointment out of his voice, “But I asked for blueberry…” If he was going to suffer through the inevitable interrogation about his mysterious customer, he’d better be able to do that on a stomach full of blueberry pancakes.

“Keep up Dean’s business and you’ll be able to afford as many blueberries as you want,” Gabriel said patronizingly, no doubt Cas’ comment offended him. “Besides,” he added as he returned to the kitchen, “I was banking on you being too tired to notice.”

“Don’t worry Gabe,” Balthazar said, patting Cas’ head as he reached to slide two chocolate chip pancakes onto his plate, “ _ I _ happen to enjoy your chocolate chip pancakes.”

“Or you could just date Dean,” Anna announced smugly as she wandered into the dining room, red hair mussed up with some spectacular bed-head, purple night shirt hanging down one shoulder. She grabbed a pancake and took a bite, not even bothering to locate a plate.

“Anna!” Castiel and Hannah said in equally scandalized tones (though for vastly different reasons). Unlike Anna, Hannah walked into the kitchen very much ready for the day, brown curls perfectly styled and her typical blazer/sweater combo wrinkle free. Anna merely grinned and shrugged in reply, taking another large bite of pancake.

“Just sayin’,” her mouth pointedly full, “Dean would probably buy you whatever pancake you wanted.”

“Again, I ask:” Gabriel interrupted, returning from the kitchen with a pot of his famous homemade buttermilk syrup, “Even if he’s a criminal?”

“He’s not a criminal!” Cas groaned, finally settling on a plain pancake. He scraped a dab of butter out of their ancient butter dish, spreading it on the quickly cooling pancake. Anything to ignore the conversation at hand.

“So,” Anna interrupted cheerfully, “That means you’re going to--”

“I’m not dating--”

“Hold up, Cassie,” Gabriel interjected, pouring a copious amount of buttermilk syrup over his chocolate chip pancakes. Cas never could understand how Gabe could stomach so much sugar in one sitting, but after one particularly eventful night out for the coven when Gabriel poured an entire ice-cream sundae over a thick slice of cheesecake, a little extra syrup was far less shocking. 

Castiel hoped Gabriel’s statement might be diffusing the situation, but instead: “You have to admit, some guy who only comes in the dead of night, fears people learning his identity and only pays in massive bills? All details pretty much point to him being a criminal.”

“A hot criminal,” Anna added with a grin.

Pushing away his half-eaten pancake, Castiel groaned. “You know,” he said as he stood, “I could just keep Dean’s excess payment to myself. Then I wouldn’t have to hear any of your teasing  _ and _ I’d get a nice, tidy profit on the side.”

Silence. Not even the clatter of dishware, everyone at the table appeared to be frozen in shock. Evidently nobody in the Coven could have anticipated Castiel standing up to them like this. In fact, it was almost comical seeing them frozen in shock, a slab of uneaten pancake dangling from Balthazar’s fork. It was Hannah, of all people, who spoke first.

“You wouldn’t do that. If you were even remotely interested in this Dean character, you would have kept him secret from us from the beginning to ensure we did not meddle,” as usual, Hannah sounded calm and collected, like a lawyer stating a case, “But you did not. You  _ wanted _ us to know. So, nice try, but I’ll be taking the money.” She reached out an expectant hand. The rest of the table gaped.

“Damn,” Balthazar whispered, pancake now forgotten as Cas handed over the cash, “Talk about calling a bluff. Didn’t you you had that in you, Hannah.”

Castiel stood, dazed. Hannah’s argument brought forth many questions that he was far too tired to try and answer right then and there. Much easier, he figured, to let Hannah think she’d won. It might not be easy to tell at first glance, but Hannah could be absolutely  _ ruthless _ if she put her mind to it.

To keep his mind off things, he bent to take another couple bites of the pancake--which was entering the realm of unpleasantly spongy--and stood back up with a loud and only  _ slightly _ exaggerated yawn.

“Sleep well!” Anna called out as he began to shuffle to his bedroom.

“Dream of dollars!” Balthazar hollered.

“Or Dean!” Gabriel added, “Whatever brings in more money!”

Castiel rolled his eyes as he made his way down the hall until he could finally close his bedroom door. There was a blessed  _ click _ , then silence. He sighed, kicking off his shoes and wriggling out of his pants. His tunic was soft enough to sleep in, and Cas was more than ready to hit the hay. 

His eyes closed before he’d even made it into bed, brain foggily trying to make sense of the enigma that was Dean. Dean the possible criminal, apparently. As he contemplated this, however, his toe connected painfully with the foot of his bed, sending Cas tumbling awkwardly onto his soft, cotton covers. That was how he stayed, splayed out on the sheets, sleep overcoming him at long last.

 

\-----

 

“Please tell me you’re a vigilante,” Castiel said to Dean as the latter watched him dust a collection of Dark Magic books from the 1800s. Dean’s visits had persisted for over a week now, his payments staying just as lavish and his exits, for the most part, equally absurd. (Though Cas suspected that the latter had something to do with Dean purposefully interjecting theatrics into the whole ordeal, knowing full well Castiel’s brimming curiosity). In general, though, the more Dean darted out unexpectedly, the more Castiel’s observations were leading him to believe it had something to do with other customers entering the store.

Currently, the three most popular breakfast-table theories among the Coven for these hasty retreats were that Dean was a criminal, a rich hermit, or, the one Castiel was secretly hoping, a vigilante. A hacker, maybe, or the kind of guy who fought crime the old fashioned way. (He certainly had the body for it). Naturally, Cas was in the minority with this theory. Gabriel’s  _ crime boss _ was in the lead, with votes from Balthazar and Anna. Hannah, bless her heart, was still set on the more legal option of  _ rich hermit _ .

“You’re still trying this?” Dean laughed, thumbing through a volume of hexes. Lately, he’d been lingering in the shop for longer periods of time and had taken to chatting Cas up while Cas worked. Now, if it had been anyone else, Castiel would have loathed the prolonged interaction, silently despising whatever moron dared disturb his privacy.

But Dean wasn’t a moron, he was just Dean. And secretly, Castiel enjoyed Dean’s presence. Sometimes, Dean just watched as Castiel worked in silence. Other times, he’d ask Castiel questions about his life: how old he was, who was in his coven, what he did for fun...all the lowball questions all acquaintances seem obliged to answer.

It didn’t matter what Castiel was saying, though, Dean was always entranced, green eyes aglow as he listened. If Dean wasn’t such an enormous spender, Cas would have suspected him of trying to charm him in some elaborate scheme to rob  _ Heaven on Earth _ . But no robber, Cas argued, would regularly drop $100 on a shop they planned to clean out. No, it simply seemed to be that Dean was genuinely interested in Castiel’s stories.

Of course, Castiel was equally fascinated by Dean and his stories, though it was proving to be harder to get Dean to divulge anything. All Cas knew was Dean had a younger brother who was currently studying at Stanford to become a lawyer. Dean loved him more than anything. Well, his brother and pie. Dean  _ loved _ pie. But that was about all Castiel had managed to learn, other than vague and confusing hints Dean occasionally let slip. All in all, Castiel knew very little about the guy.

“It’s not just me who’s curious,” Castiel said, wiping down a shelf with a fluffy dust rag Hannah insisted they invest in, “The whole Coven’s got a bet running.”

Dean raised his eyebrow in interest. “Any money on the table?”

“Half of the exorbitant profit we make on selling dreams to you. Speaking of--” Cas set down the rag, turning back to face Dean, “You still haven’t told me what dream you want tonight.”

“I told you,” Dean waved a dismissive hand, “You make great dreams all on your own, better to let an artist follow their own artistic vision. Besides, I like the surprise. Now,” he leaned forwards, mischief lighting his face, “Who’s betting on what?”

Cas rolled his eyes, though a playful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “General consensus is that you’re a criminal, though some division has arisen as to what kind of crime you indulge in.”

“Naturally.”

“Now, Hannah thinks you’re just a crazy hermit who happened to inherit a large fortune.”

“I’m offended,” Dean said in a tone that was the furthest thing from offended, “And what do you think?”

Cas blushed, setting down Dean’s half-finished dream. “I may or may not be saying you’re a vigilante.”

Dean laughed. It was an absolutely wonderful sound and Cas had found Dean put his whole body into it, throwing his head back like this comment was the pinnacle of humor. “So, how does it go?” Dean asked, laughter still in his voice, “I fight criminals and then tuck into your charming shop for a quick break?”

Cas shrugged. “I don’t know what I was thinking…” he mumbled, realizing only now just how silly the theory of  _ vigilante _ sounded when voiced aloud.

“Nah, man, that’s really cool you’d think I’d be a hero…” Dean said, though his smile faded, “Truth is, I’m just a well-paid freelancer.” He said freelancer in a tone of disgust, though what he was disgusted about, Cas had no idea.

Cas rubbed the corner of Dean’s dream bag nervously, hesitating for a moment before blurting out: “Doing what?”

An odd look crossed Dean’s face as he bit his lower lip. He looked torn.

“You don’t have to--”

“No, no,” Dean raised a hand in assurance, “I just...this is hard to admit. People always think differently of me...I’m a-” Dean paused, staring at Castiel for a moment. Then another strange look crossed his face, this one mingled with guilt and relief before, “I’m a sex worker.”

Silence fell. Dean looked away and Castiel found himself staring very intently at Dean’s kneecap.

“You certainly have the body for it,” Castiel mused. There was another pause as it sunk in that Castiel had just voiced those thoughts aloud. Those terrible, traitorous thoughts. Cas stared harder at Dean’s kneecap, as though willing Dean to stay quiet.

But Dean merely laughed, breaking the tension. “Didn’t know you were checking me out in between dream making.”

“I--you--it--” Cas spluttered helplessly, which only made Dean laugh harder.

“Don’t ever change, Cas,” Dean said, stepping closer to the table. Castiel looked up at last, relieved to see Dean’s face free of the worry lines that often creased it. They caught each other's’ eyes and, without meaning to, stared. It had to have been longer than a minute they held eye contact. Maybe longer, Cas wasn’t quite sure what was happening. Finally, when he was completely certain Dean was currently creeped out, Castiel glanced down at the dream pouch.

“Don’t you have anywhere you should be?” he asked, still reeling from the strange interaction. What did it mean? Would there be more moments like it? He certainly hoped this hadn’t just scared Dean away from future visits. And even if Castiel didn’t know what happened, he was certain that he wanted Dean’s company in the future.

“You trying to get rid of me?” Dean asked with a wry smile.

“No! Of course not!” Cas exclaimed, throwing himself into the work of properly crafting this dream, which as of right now only comprised of a clear quartz and dried lemon peel. He may or may not have taken the liberty of planning Dean’s dreams well in advance and tonight’s was a space adventure where Dean singlehandedly saved the ship. “It’s just that you’re often in a hurry to leave,” he clarified.

Dean grimaced. “In my line of work, a lot of people end up knowing who I am and I like to avoid...awkward situations.”

Cas frowned, looking up from the small selection of meteor slivers he was deliberating between. Something in Dean’s voice lead him to believe there might be more to the situation than that. “Just awkward? Dean, are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!” Dean snapped.

“You just seem more...concerned than that…” Cas continued hesitantly, though his insides screamed for him to shut up before he dug himself into an even bigger hole, “I mean...do you think someone’s going to hurt you?”

Dean barked a harsh laugh. “No. And it’s about damn time you start minding your own business.”

Cas’ mouth snapped shut with an audible  _ click _ and he scowled deeply, glaring daggers into the dream he was constructing. Of all things! Dean had  _ no  _ right to be that rude, Cas was merely worried and--no, Dean had a point, Cas was prying. Still, while Castiel couldn’t decide who was at fault for that sour interaction, he  _ did _ know the whole thing made him angry. Several minutes passed in Castiel’s furious silence.

“Sorry, Cas…” Dean croaked finally, “That was out of line, I know.”

Castiel didn’t even look up from his work, grabbing a sprig of foxglove from an old mint tin and stuffing it forcefully into the pouch. Another couple tense minutes passed. Castiel could hear the floorboards creak as Dean wandered aimlessly around the shop. Castiel sighed. “I worry about you,” he called out finally, “That’s all.”

“I am a pretty good customer,” Dean agreed. He must have jogged from one end of the store to Cas’ workspace because when Castiel looked up, there was Dean, clearly pretending to have been leaning nonchalantly against the counter the whole time.

Cas rolled his eyes with a grin as he cinched the dream bag shut. Wordlessly, he fished a small stub of charcoal from his pocket to inscribe the necessary sigil, a swooping “D” with various lines intersecting it. 

“Okay, scratch that,” Dean said as the silence continued, “I’m a shitty customer. I act like a jerk, I leave abruptly, really the only thing I bring to the table is my cash.”

Cas looked up at him, shocked at how sad Dean’s voice sounded. “I’m used to people just liking me, y’know?” Dean continued, “Though I guess they like me for what I do and not…” he sighed, “Not me.”

“Well, I like you for you plenty,” Cas said finally, handing Dean the finished dream as he wiped the excess charcoal onto his jeans, “And you’ve never slept with me.”

Both faces were oddly pink after that statement, Cas realizing once again how a seemingly innocent comment was, in fact, a vast mistake. Dean averted his eyes to tug a $50 bill from his wallet. “Well,” Dean said with false bravado, “Sleeping with me probably wouldn’t even give you a first impression since, y’know…” he trailed off.

“What makes you think I don’t swing your way?” Cas shot back, eyes sparkling as the color in their cheeks darkened. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him, Castiel didn’t often out himself. But there was something about Dean that he trusted…

They stood a moment in embarrassed silence, Dean working up the courage to speak. He’d just opened his mouth when, as the universe often fated such things, Dean’s phone rang loudly. “Back in Black” blared from his pocket, echoing around the otherwise empty shop.

“I’m so sorry,” Dean said, and he truly looked apologetic as he turned away from Cas, answering the phone. It was a muffled conversation and Cas was torn between respecting Dean’s privacy and trying to listen in on the mysterious phone call that had interrupted their banter.

Just as Castiel began to crane his neck, however, Dean hung up. All color was drained from his face, the exhaustion reappearing in earnest. “I’m so sorry, man,” he said quickly, “But I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas replied softly, trying to ease the tension from Dean’s face. “I’ll have my best dream yet waiting for you.”

For a moment, the worry faded. “You’re the best, Cas,” Dean said softly, “I owe you one.”

And then the worry was back, with Dean all but racing to get out the door.

 

\-----

 

“A sex worker? I’m not buying it,” Balthazar said, hidden behind roughly a half dozen cereal boxes. Nobody in the coven could decide on a favorite, so the solution was to get a variety (half healthy, half very much unhealthy) to sample on any given day. Anna, always the fan of more elaborate breakfasts, had offered to take this morning shift.

Cas shrugged as he grabbed a box of Wheaties, upending the bland bricks into his bowl. He preferred a thick blue bowl with bumblebees painted on the side, and he’d been lucky enough to nab it before someone else snagged it out of spite. Or laziness. As he poured the milk, Castiel looked up to see Balthazar still watching him. “That’s what he said,” Cas reiterated.

“I don’t understand,” Balthazar continued, clinking his spoon to an empty bowl, “I’ve been to most of the shady venues around town and haven’t seen the likes of him. And trust me, if he looks as great as you’ve described, I would have remembered.”

“Of course you would,” Hannah muttered darkly, reaching for a box of Raisin Bran.

“Balth has a point, though,” Gabriel added, already halfway through his multi-colored mess, which was a combination of all the available sugar cereals. “I mean, he doesn’t have a point. He’s lead me to  _ my _ point, which is: what kind of sex worker has time to go to your store at night? Isn’t that kind of peak hours for his sort of business?”

He grinned, taking a massive bite of cereal. Hannah wrinkled her nose in disgust, which of course only lead Gabriel to try to feed her a bite of multi-colored mush. In the chaos, Castiel quietly pondered Gabriel’s point. He hated to admit that they were beginning to be successful in their attempts to plant a seed of doubt. After all...Dean’s alibi didn’t really line up.

As though on cue, Balthazar burst out, “I just thought of something else!” He set down his spoon dramatically, as though only just discovering a mystery of the universe. Gabriel’s teasing ceased, cereal sloshing onto the table as he turned to watch Balthazar. “He shouldn’t have that kind of excess cash to spend. Unless, of course…”

“...he’s also a criminal!” Gabriel finished excitedly, the remaining contents of the spoon splattering onto the floor.

“You think that’s why he lied?” Cas asked morosely, already feet first into the Coven’s Dean conspiracy, “I mean... _ if _ he actually lied…”

Gabe shrugged. “You’re the one who’s seeing sparks with the guy,” he replied, digging his spoon back into his bowl, which was now mostly just a thickened brown liquid that was once milk. “Ask him tomorrow.”

Castiel took this completely untrue comment (there were no sparks, he would have noticed if the lighting in the shop had malfunctioned) as his cue to leave. All he wanted was sleep and answers, but he’d have to wait for the answers, so sleep was the next thing on the agenda.

 

\-----

 

The next night, however, Dean didn’t show. As usual, Castiel held off making Dean’s dream, this time an exciting day at a reality-bending amusement park, preferring to show off his witch skills in person. (So he wanted to impress Dean? No big deal. Witches were often show-offs by nature.)

In the meantime, Cas served a group of frat boys, not even bothering to hide his scowl at their dirty requests. Not only that, the group was  _ loud _ , far too loud, and Castiel wasn’t convinced they hadn’t stolen some of their smaller items. Which was why he didn’t feel all that bad ending each and every one of their dream fantasies with a nightmare. If they came back asking, he could easily claim the nightmares just came as a product of too much alcohol consumption.

Once they left, Castiel busied himself with practicing a couple ancient incantations, secretly hoping Dean would arrive in the middle to see Cas performing real flashy witchcraft. Dreams were fine, but the spells, oh, Cas was sure Dean’s eyes would light up with some of the spells he could cast. But aside from a mouse Cas conjured, nobody arrived.

In the dead of night, he served an older businesswoman who was about to leave for a flight overseas and wanted something to keep her asleep for at least part of it. Castiel kindly crafted a dream of a pleasant family outing with her stay-at-home husband and three children, a lovely reminder of the people she missed. The woman thanked him profusely before darting out the door, complaining about the red eye she had to catch.

But still no Dean.

He’d been late before, Castiel rationalized, and he  _ was _ a sex worker so maybe Gabriel was right and Dean was simply busy. Still, the thought bothered Cas more than it reasonably should have and he wore a permanent scowl as he tried to keep busy. Three AM passed, then four, then five, then six. Still no Dean. Castiel found himself worrying (unnecessarily, he chided) about the man’s well-being. After all, no matter what Dean had said to the contrary, Cas still believed there was more than just awkward interactions at stake for the man.

6:30 rolled around when Castiel glumly decided there was no way Dean would arrive before his shift ended at 7. He was in the middle of tidying his dream-making table when the door chime sounded. Castiel whipped his head up so fast it was surprising he didn’t hurt himself, but the person who entered the shop was  _ definitely _ not Dean.

It was a girl, first of all, one with a fiery red pixie and a slim green graphic t-shirt (Ain’t no life like the Shire life), which Castiel assumed was a reference to something he didn’t understand. He frowned. No doubt she was just the first of the sleep-deprived college students mistaking his store for the coffee shop.

“Coffee’s next door,” Cas announced dully, causing the girl to look up from a set of tarot cards she was examining.

“Are these vintage lesbians?” the girl asked,  _ far _ too chipper for this early in the morning. When Cas merely squinted at her in return, the girl expounded, “It’s black and white, the fashions are old and half of the cards are mostly naked girls getting  _ way _ too intimate for just being friends.”

Castiel grumbled a curse. He’d told Balthazar they were  _ not _ supposed to be displaying the publicly indecent cards like that, so close to the front where  _ anyone _ could walk in. Many people already thought witchcraft was immoral, he at least wanted to maintain a family-friendly storefront to try proving them wrong. No point throwing fuel onto the fire.

“I am so sorry,” he said belatedly, realizing the girl was staring at him.

She smiled warmly. “Nah, dude. As a fellow lesbian, these cards are pretty epic! I might have to come back when I’m not on shift and-- _ shit _ , I’m on shift!” She spoke quickly and animatedly, as though there was a time limit on how much she was allowed to say.

“I’ll see you later?” Cas was vaguely confused by the outburst. Of course, that might just be because it was getting late in his shift. Hannah was bound to relieve him any minute. He could go in...eat breakfast...sleep...all as long as he made it through this one tenuous interaction…

“No! I’m here on a mission!” the girl set down the tarot cards and made her way to Cas. “I’m Dean’s assistant. Here to get him a dream.” She looked up at him expectedly, as though this was all part of a plan that he was in on.

Cas frowned. “Dean’s….assistant?” That didn’t make any sense. He might not know the intricacies of sex work, but Cas thought he could safely say it didn’t include having an assistant. Though, again, this could be a misconception brought on by weariness. It was hard to tell.

“ _ Crap! _ ” the girl exclaimed, trying to assume an innocent expression, “Did I say assistant? I meant sister! Dean’s sister. I don’t know why I said assistant, common slip of the tongue I guess.” She laughed nervously.

He didn’t laugh. In fact, Cas wasn’t entirely sure she was right, but he was also too tired to try and figure out what, if anything, this girl was hiding. Besides, she kept referencing Dean, meaning she might have answers to the night’s most pressing mystery.

“Dean wants you to know he’s sorry he can’t come. I’m Charlie, by the way,” she stuck out a hand, which Cas tentatively shook. It was a firm handshake. Confident. “Anyway, he said if you’re skeptical that this will convince you that he really sent me.” She let go of Cas’ hand, fishing a $100 bill out of her back pocket and waving it like a tiny fan.

Nobody else paid so lavishly for dreams...or for anything, really. Cas sighed, pulling out a few of his ingredients that he’d put away after suspecting Dean wasn’t coming. “Why’s Dean not here?” he asked as he worked, hoping he did not sound too petulant.

Charlie made a face. “Unavoidably detained.”

That didn’t sound good. Cas couldn’t help but wonder if Charlie was a member of Dean’s potential crime syndicate. If there was a crime syndicate. Which it was looking more and more like there could be. Still, he worked silently on the dream. Well, it would have been silent if Charlie hadn’t been prattling the whole time, talking about everything from the weather to the latest plot twist in her favorite TV show.

She was nice, though, and Cas felt a little guilty for not talking to her. After all, she’d gotten up rather early for this excursion and the least he could have done was be hospitable. He knew full well that his cold demeanor often scared away customers and this one in particular he couldn’t lose. For many reasons. To make up for his silence, he tossed together a cheap luck spell (allspice, bluebell and sunflower in a scrap of yellow cotton fabric), tying the bundle off with an especially colorful string.

When he handed Charlie the two spells, explaining that the latter was for her and was on the house, she burst into a toothy grin. “I see why Dean likes you,” she said, handing him the money.

Before Cas could inquire what that cryptic comment meant, however, Charlie had pocketed the spells and was heading out of the shop with a cheerful wave and the promise that both she and Dean would return.

 

\-----

 

“Wait, who’s Charlie?” Hannah asked as Cas swiped a slice of toast from the table, too tired to wait for Gabriel to finish cooking the eggs.

“Either his sister or his assistant,” he said, slathering the bread with huckleberry jam and taking a bite.

“Or his secret girlfriend,” Anna mused.

Cas choked on his toast.

 

\-----

 

The following night passed much the same as the one before. Castiel had warned his coven to be on the lookout for a redhead named Charlie, but evidently she had not shown up during normal business hours. A small comfort, as Castiel belatedly realized giving his coven Charlie’s identity put the poor girl at terrible risk of the all too creative interrogation methods a group of witches have at their disposal. Still, it meant he was able to sleep through the day and head to work without much trouble.

That night, he managed to serve more dreams, even sold a minor revenge spell to a girl who’d just discovered her boyfriend was cheating on her. All the while, though, Cas couldn’t help but wait for Dean to arrive. It didn’t feel like a proper night had passed if Dean didn’t come, which Castiel was ashamed to admit. After all, Dean’s presence shouldn’t have mattered  _ that _ much.

To keep his mind off the unfortunately pressing issue, Castiel busied himself with crafting a few generic dreams that his coven cold sell during daytime hours. Humming an old Celtic ballad, he immersed himself in crafting a nice set of “ideal day trip” dreams. A mountain hike, a romantic picnic, a private island. He was so focused that he didn’t hear the door open.

“Wow, you’re really good at this,” Charlie’s voice, far closer than he was expecting, tore Castiel from his blessed solitude and he dropped the pouch he was working on, along with a dozen or so sprigs of sage. “Crap!” she exclaimed, dropping to her knees to help pick up the fallen objects.

He looked up to see that her pixie was gelled up. She wore a dark blazer over a blue t-shirt with “TREKKIE” written in bold white letters across the front. She’d also stopped by the coffee shop next door, judging by the cup in her hand. “I’m so sorry,” she continued, “I forgot that not everyone’s as chipper as me and it’s a real drag, let me tell you, Dean’s always getting on my case about it…”

“Are you Dean’s secret girlfriend?” Castiel blurted out, hand half full of stage. Instantly he regretted it, after all, he had no idea what had even possessed him to open with that line before he’d even properly said hello. How rude!

Charlie, however, burst out laughing. “Dude, first of all, kudos on being so bold,” she handed Cas the fallen pouch, along with a couple sprigs of sage, “And second of all, hell no! For  _ so _ many reasons, but definitely cuz I definitely haven’t swung that way, since….well, since I left the womb.” She paused, watching Cas intently as she pushed to her feet, “What made you think--”

“My Coven,” Cas muttered, blushing as he followed Charlie to standing, “We were theorizing what would possess someone to introduce themselves as both a relative and an employee of a mutual friend--” 

“You didn’t think it was because I was both?”

Castiel became intently focused on the sage in his hand, putting it away with far more care than the small dried plant really warranted. Embarrassment crept up his neck as he tried to keep his focus away from the woman he’d very much misjudged. “I did not consider that point, no.”

“Well, I am. Both his sister and employee, not Dean’s secret girlfriend,” Charlie tittered after the last part, still clearly amused by the idea that she could possibly be Dean’s girlfriend. “Dean’s gonna get a kick out of this.”

_ Oh _ . Castiel hadn’t even considered Dean learning of his egregious misstep. That, of all things, would likely not convince Dean to come back to the shop. “Is there a way I could, perhaps….convince you  _ not  _ to tell your brother?” he asked, eyes crossing the shop to track down something Charlie might enjoy.

“Cas!” she apparently picked up Dean’s penchant for nicknames, her blue eyes wide as she surveyed Castiel with some form of amusement, “Are you trying to  _ bribe _ me?”

“...it sounds significantly worse when you say it like that,” Castiel muttered stiffly, “I was merely suggesting the possibility of a mutually beneficial exchange of goods and services.”

“Oh. My. Gosh,” Charlie smothered a giggle, “You really  _ are _ bribing me!”

It was worth it, Castiel rationalized. Even if Dean wasn’t weirded out or offended, he’d be amused by the story. And no matter what, he would  _ never _ let him live this down. He locked eyes with Charlie and with all the gravity he could muster, Castiel asked “Do we have a deal?”

“I dunno,” Charlie replied cheerfully, running a hand along a display of crystal balls, “What do you have in mind?”

Another frantic sweep of the store. Not crystals, not spell books….Cas’ eyes landed on the card pile that Charlie had been examining before and relief blossomed in his chest. “I was thinking the lesbian tarot cards,” he tried to sound nonchalant, but Cas wasn’t sure if it came across that way.

Still, something must have worked, because Charlie’s grin disappeared and her jaw dropped, whirling around to stare at Cas. “Shit. You serious?”

“Does my reputation with Dean seem like a laughing matter?”

Charlie let out a high pitched giggle before slapping her hand over her mouth. She eyed the tarot cards, clearly struggling to keep her cool enough so Cas wouldn’t change his mind. “Deal,” she squeaked, voice muffled by her hand.

While he knew full well that Charlie found the whole thing highly amusing, Castiel trusted her agreement and relaxed somewhat, making his way past Charlie to retrieve the deck of tarot cards. Truth be told, he was relieved to be rid of it. Somehow it always found its way to the front of the shop. Cas always swore it was the first thing conservatives saw upon walking into the establishment, which never made for a fun conversation.

He carefully wrapped the deck in paper, stamping the Coven’s sigil on the front before handing it to Charlie. “Not a word to Dean,” he reminded her with grave seriousness, keeping a hand on the cards until she agreed.

Charlie mimed locking her mouth closed (a dangerous motion as far as Cas was concerned. Didn’t she know with the right incantation, such a motion could result in the actual suppression of her voice?) though she couldn’t hide a grin as she tugged the deck out of Cas’ hand, running a finger along the wrapping paper before tucking it into her bag.

“So, what dream are you planning for Dean?”

“He wants it to be a surprise.”

“Yeah,” Charlie pouted, following Cas through the winding shelves as he made his way to his dream making station, “But Dean’s not here, is he? It’s just me and  _ I’m curious _ .”

“I was thinking a flying dream, actually,” Cas admitted, running his fingers absentmindedly through a drawer of various feathers, “Most customers give them rave reviews.” It was true, he’d had so many come back for more that he’d started crafting additional flight dreams to keep out on the shelves during the day. Technically, he could give Dean one of those, but secretly Cas wanted to make sure Dean’s dreams always had a more personal touch.

“Absolutely do  _ not _ do that!” Charlie said, concerned flooding her voice. 

“What?” this was the first time Cas had ever heard an objection to a dream idea. Especially on behalf of Dean. He could feel his heart sinking and tried to keep the petulance at bay. “Why not?”

“Trust me,” Charlie said, dramatically pushing the dream ingredients (most of which were  _ not _ going to be used for Dean’s dream) to the edge of the table, “Dean’s  _ terrified _ of flying.”

It felt very strange to be learning about Dean through someone else. Cas already knew so little about the guy to begin with. To hear a personal tidbit dropped so casually felt extraordinarily foreign. Not to mention slightly annoying. Why did Charlie get to know so much about Dean, but Cas couldn’t?

“Oh...I’m glad you told me,” Cas mumbled. If Dean was afraid of flying, then a dream where he burst into the stratosphere would likely feel more like a nightmare than a relaxing adventure. Cas wasn’t sure he’d be able to live the embarrassment of that mistake down.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t brought it up, given you’ve kinda been inside his head for the last month,” Charlie mused as Castiel prepared to make another driving dream for Dean instead. This time, it would be set at night, Dean could stop off on an empty country road and watch the stars. “But he’s always trying to preserve his macho image, I guess.”

“And his privacy,” Cas added, “Aside from his brother and his car, I know little about him.”

“He told you about Sam?” Charlie gasped.

Cas frowned as he ground some linden bark into a fine powder. “Yes. Is that bad?”

“No…” Charlie pursed her lips as Cas pinched some of the powder into the palm of his hand, measuring it for a moment before tipping the contents into the pouch. She took a sip of her coffee, watching him with interest, “Dean just never tells anyone about Sam.”

“Oh. Is Sam a sex worker too?”

Charlie spewed coffee, the brown liquid splattering against the wooden exterior of the counter. Cas couldn’t help but be relieved she’d done it on his workspace and not somewhere more problematic, like the bookshelf of ancient tomes. “It’s okay,” he said as Charlie full on stared at him, not even aware of the mess she’d just made, “I know Dean’s a sex worker.”

Charlie gaped for a minute, only belatedly fishing into her back pocket to pull out a napkin, which she used to begin to mop the coffee up from the dingy counter facade. “How much do you get out, Cas?” she asked abruptly.

Cas huffed a laugh. Was she’d be worried he’d gone to Dean and his brother for their nightly services? “My Coven asks the same thing,” he pulled a trash can from under the shelf, handing it to Charlie so she’d have a place to put her coffee stained napkin. “Honestly, working night shift kind of forces me to stay put….and gives me an excuse for not understanding popular references.”

“So, no TV?”

Cas grinned, “Aside from the occasional children’s cartoon I catch in the wee hours of the morning before falling asleep? No.” He paused as Charlie tossed the napkins into the bin with a wet thud, pulling the now coffee-scented trash can back to its original location. “Why do you ask?”

Charlie hesitated, wiping her fingers on her jeans as she sized Cas up. Cas watched her patiently, truly curious about her reasoning. “Doesn’t matter,” she said finally.

Of course, it must have mattered. She looked so serious before, and currently pretty dejected. Cas’ brow furrowed as he tried to work out  _ why  _ such a question would be of importance. “...did Dean ask for a pop-culture themed dream?” 

“...yeah, that was it.” Charlie looked away. For reasons Castiel could not fathom, she wasn’t being entirely truthful. Still, for the life of him, Cas had no idea why she would be so intensely disappointed about the whole deal. Not even his Coven was this unhappy at Cas’ staunch refusal to engage in anything that was older than the nineteenth century.

“Tell him I’ll get that to him tomorrow,” Cas sighed, suddenly feeling weighed down. He’d have to ask his Coven, of course, to fill him in on what was popular, and then do his own research to find ingredients that would properly correspond. Still, for Dean, any amount of work was worth it. “Unless he wants to come in himself…”

Apparently he hadn’t been able to keep a hint of hope out of his voice, because Charlie shot him a pitying look. “He’s really busy...but if he could come himself, I swear he would.”

Cas wasn’t sure what was worse, the expression Charlie wore or the tone she used. Charlie was watching Cas the way a mother looked at her child when she was about to tell them their beloved childhood pet had died. Which was absurd. He’d never intended to be this invested in Dean, but Dean was nice. He was interesting. He let Cas talk about whatever he wanted. And yes, Dean paid well, but Castiel would give him dreams for free if it meant seeing him in person again.

Rather than dwell on it, Cas took to making Dean’s current dream with a passion. He mixed peppermint with meadowsweet and even a little bit of yellow jasper for good measure. Dean didn’t want to come. Fine. He probably had more important things--or people--to do anyway. 

Still, the rejection stung. And Charlie seemed to know it.

“I’ll tell him Dean you missed him today,” she said, handing over a $100 bill when Castiel finished the dream. 

He didn’t even bother to clean the charcoal dust from his fingertips as he handed the pouch to Charlie. When he didn’t reply, Charlie turned to go, leaving him with another sad glance in his direction. Not that it mattered. Charlie’s pity would not make his longing dissipate. 

Dean didn’t show up for the next week. Or the week after.

 

\----

 

Two weeks later, the world was proceeding as it always had. Castiel finished a shift, the Coven convened for breakfast (oatmeal with toppings), all the hustle and bustle was still in his life...it was just lacking one crucial character. So he was left to let Balthazar take over his shift, carrying his foul mood up to breakfast with him.

“No mysterious Dean last night?” Anna asked as Castiel glared daggers into his bowl of oatmeal. He’d grabbed the bowl five minutes ago and hadn’t even lifted his spoon. Not that anyone would blame him, Cas was so distracted he hadn’t added anything.

“How can you possibly know that?” Cas snapped, digging a spoon into the woefully plain oats. He crammed a spoonful into his mouth, expression not changing in the slightest despite the bland flavor.

“You look like you want to murder your oats, for starters,” Gabe said, ladling himself a hearty portion, “Not that I’d blame you, with your flavor selection.” When Castiel turned his glare on Gabe, he held his hands up in mock surrender. “Do you know if he’s coming back?”

“No,” Cas snarled while Gabriel made himself busy reaching for the bowl of brown sugar, “His assistant is being  _ very _ vague.”

“Yet more proof this Dean is not who he says he is,” Balthazar replied breezily.

Cas set his spoon down, staring into the bowl of oatmeal. Really, the last major interaction he’d had with Charlie had been the night of the flying dream. The last few weeks she’d been in a hurry. And besides, Cas hadn’t been particularly chatty. Although the shot the typical “how was your day?” niceties back and forth, nobody had touched on the elephant in the room. Namely, Dean’s absence. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder about one of the questions she’d asked him… 

“His assistant  _ did _ make an odd comment about me not watching television a few weeks ago…” Cas conceded finally.

“Ah, Cassie,” Gabriel laughed, piling copious spoonfuls of brown sugar onto his oats, “Everyone is surprised by that, there’s nothing suspicious there.”

“What’s wrong with not watching TV? I don’t watch TV!” Hannah piped up from the other end of the table where she had been buried in a thick library book The others laughed.

“No, no,” Anna interjected thoughtfully, “Cas has a point. Maybe it’s a clue.” She snapped her fingers and a near ancient laptop hovered into the room. The Coven had better, of course, but after a few near disasters with Anna’s summoning spell, she was consigned to summon the most dispensable of the Coven’s limited tech. 

Hannah’s scowl deepened. “I thought we agreed, no technology at the table.”

“Just this once,” Gabriel and Anna said in unison. The two were always trying to one-up each other, it was never a good sign when they banded together. Hannah glared but said nothing, much to Castiel’s dismay, and instead pointedly focused on her dusty novel.

“Lessee…” Anna said as she whipped the laptop open, “We’ll put the name Dean...add our location...search recent…” her fingers flew across the keys. Gabriel left his seat to peer over her shoulder. Castiel deliberately stayed in his place...though he was secretly intrigued with what they’d find.

“...and…” Anna dramatically flourished her hand as she pushed the Enter Key. There was a long pause (the laptop wasn’t exactly fast anymore, not even with the occasional spell to boost performance) and silence fell, only to be interrupted by a sharp intake of breath. “...holy shit.”

“No way,” Gabriel, master of pranks, was actually  _ gaping _ .

“What?” Cas’ mind jumped immediately to the worst possibilities. The sex offenders listing. Wanted posters. Maybe even a body count. He pushed his chair away from the table so fast it toppled over.

“Does the name Dean Winchester ring a bell?” Gabriel asked, brown eyes wide.

Cas’ heart pounded loudly, crashing against his ribcage. “He never gave a last name,” he said with a shrug, hoping to come off casual and unaffected rather than face the fact he was beyond terrified.

“But you’ve never heard of Dean Winchester?” Anna was aghast. Cas’ unease grew.

He frowned, bending to methodically lift the chair back into its original position. “Do you know if it’s my Dean or not?” 

Anna made a funny sort of squack in surprise. Gabe’s eyes widened to almost comical proportions. Hannah even looked up from her novel, disbelief plastered on her face as she burst out “Even  _ I _ know how Dean Winchester is!”

Slowly, Castiel set down his spoon, not even aware he’d picked it up. He could not understand his Coven’s reactions, but an easy guess would say that Dean Winchester must be someone important. A Senator, perhaps? Rival witch? As he made his way to Anna, Cas couldn’t help but briefly consider the possibility that Dean Winchester was a gang leader, a crime boss…

“Is this him?” Anna asked impatiently, turning the laptop screen to face him. Castiel felt a rush of trepidation as his eyes scanned the screen, then a jolt of something (Fear? Surprise? Shock?) as he spotted the pair of oh so familiar green eyes. 

Cas’ breath hitched as he stared at the photograph. It was clearly professionally done, Dean rocking a leather jacket that was likely worth a small fortune as he pouted into the camera. Even stranger was the fact the picture was plastered to none other than a  _ Wikipedia _ article. Cas wondered numbly why Dean would need that. And that’s when he saw a title under the photograph. 

“Actor?” 

Cas breathed hoarsely. It felt as though he’d lost the ability to speak. Thoughts spun in his head faster than he could make sense of them as he reached over Gabriel to scroll through the page, absolutely stunned over how long the article, with its list of corresponding film credits, went.

“Not just any actor,” Anna squeaked, clearly unable to hold in her excitement, “Dean Winchester is like...one of the biggest action stars on the market!”

“Then why haven’t I heard of him?” Cas mumbled, still very much in shock.

The whole table groaned. “When was the last time you watched a film that wasn’t black and white?” Gabriel asked.

_ Oh _ . It had been a while. In fact, Castiel couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone to the movies. He prefered the simple eloquence of older films than the glossy blockbusters with their bloated budgets and overblown theatrics. When was the last time someone had danced as intricately as Fred Astaire on screen?

“So…” Hannah prodded as Castiel remained gaping open mouthed at the laptop screen, “Is your Dean this Dean?”

Cas could feel three pairs of eyes locked onto him as he took a slow, shaky breath. The last thing he wanted while making sense of this revelation was to deal with his Coven’s reaction, but there seemed to be no escaping it. “Yes,” he breathed as he finally exhaled, unable to hold his breath a moment longer.

As he anticipated, the Coven exploded. Anna screamed. Gabriel pumped his fist with a loud shout, only barely missing Cas, and even Hannah clapped her hands over her mouth with a small squeak.

“ _ The Dean Winchester,”  _ Anna cried.

“I cannot believe he’s been shopping at  _ our _ humble witchery,” Hannah intoned, “He hasn’t said anything about our shop, has he?”

“Is he as sexy in real life as he is on screen?” Gabriel asked, “Cause from what I’ve seen, his ass is hand carved by angels.”

Castiel’s stomach turned unpleasantly. The oatmeal, no matter how bland, was not sitting well. Though, of course, it might have little to do with the quality of the breakfast and everything to do with Dean. Dean  _ Winchester _ . Cas might not understand firsthand the full impact of  the name, but he knew enough. Dean Winchester was very, very famous. Suddenly, his absence from the shop made a lot more sense.

Of course, that thought only made Cas’ insides twist harder. He was not in the mood to deal with this. Wordlessly, Cas stepped away from the chaos before him and, ignoring the loud conversation of the rest of his Coven, made his way to bed.

Maybe when he woke up, the problem would have disappeared.

\---

 

As it turned out, problems did not disappear with a mere seven hours of shut-eye. In fact, this particular issue had only seemed to multiply; the excitement of the Coven had only built off the individual members while Cas was away. Even Hannah, the glue he’d hoped would keep the group from coming apart, had gotten swept away in the madness.

He was bombarded with questions, comments and suggestions during dinner. Anything from “how tall is he really?” to “what sort of dreams does he ask for?” to “we should invest in security cameras so we can sell pictures of him!”

“We are doing none of those things,” Cas said, sipping his coffee a little hotter and blacker than he typically enjoyed it. Damn revelation was even having a negative impact on his coffee experience. “Not only is Dean a well-paying client whose privacy we should respect, it should also be noted he hasn’t come to the store in person for weeks.”

“But Charlie still comes, right?” Hannah asked. Damn. Cas hadn’t talked too much about his nightly interactions, but the exorbitant payments no doubt showed up on their income reports. Which Hannah balanced meticulously. Not hard to put two and two together there.

Cas’ silence wasn’t lost on the rest of the Coven.

“Imagine how much we could charge for dreams if we said Dean Winchester used them!”

“No,” Cas resisted firmly, taking another scalding swig of coffee, in part to establish dominance and in part because he was going to get his caffeine fix  _ no matter what _ . “No amount of money is worth betraying Dean’s trust.”

_ Shit _ . That wasn’t the nonchalant answer he’d been anticipating giving. Said like that, with no explanation to back it up...that wasn’t exactly a cold, calculating move on his part. Cas cursed his low coffee levels as the Coven stared up at him from their plates of pasta.

“...as long as he keeps overpaying, I guess,” Balthazar murmured and the others, to Cas’ surprise, nodded in agreement. Was it really going to be this easy? Was he going to be let off the hook so fast?

“Well, good.” Mollified, Castiel took another gulp of his drink, sitting at the table to help himself to some pasta. Aside from the occasional strange glance, dinner proceeded as any other would with the regular clamor of dishes and silverware, the odd mistimed spell (this time Balthazar accidentally lit a meatball on fire while trying to reheat it) and the usual back and forth of conversation.

Likewise, Castiel’s shift rolled in like normal. Dust shelves, care for the occasional customer, tend to his dream stand. In fact, Castiel found as he kept himself busy, he could pretend Dean was still just another customer. It became a mantra, even:  _ customer, not Winchester _ , that he’d repeat with every impending pang of confusion that followed him throughout the night.

He was mumbling the mantra to himself, utterly unaware of time as he worked to craft a complex dream reconciling newfound sexuality, when the door chimed. Castiel looked up, trying to clear the mental focus on the task at hand in order to properly serve his latest customer. Which is why it took more than a moment for Cas’ brain to catch up with what he was seeing: toned frame...tousled sandy hair...green eyes…

Dean.

The man nervously huffed a laugh, saying “It’s been a while,” just as Castiel connected all the dots and blurted out “Dean Winchester,” before he could stop himself. It was the last thing he wanted to say, the last thing he expected to say, but with so much rattling around in his brain, with Dean showing up unexpectedly after weeks of absence, Cas couldn’t help it as the full name tumbled from his lips.

Dean’s smiled disappeared. “No,” he whispered, eyes widening as he took a few steps back towards the door. His whole body stiffened, fight or flight, and any of the charisma he’d been holding moments before was long gone.

Cas wanted to say more. To explain that he didn’t really know, or care, what Dean’s fame entailed. To assure him that it didn’t affect his friendship with Dean in the slightest. But Cas was frozen, nerves tying his tongue at the most inopportune moment. All he could do was weakly extend a han, as though willing Dean to stop, while Dean clumsily backed into a table topped with crystal balls.

One tumbled to the ground, shattering at Dean’s feet. As Dean’s eyes flicked to the chaos on the floor and then back up to Cas, something snapped. Dean turned on his heel and ran out without a second glance.

“...it doesn’t change anything,” Cas said defeatedly as the chipped wood door slammed shut.

 

\---

“I blew it with Dean,” Cas announced as he approached the breakfast table, not even bothering to wait before interrupting Hannah’s lecture on proper spell documentation. Silence fell as the Coven gaped at Cas. He left without eating to avoid dealing with the inevitable aftermath, the likes of which he could still vaguely hear with his bedroom door closed.

\---

 

“How long have you known about my brother?”

Charlie was early. She’d been by enough to establish a routine, and she usually arrived at the crack of dawn, just early enough to justify buying a coffee from next door. Today, however, she marched in around 1 AM, early enough that there were other, albeit few, customers milling about the shop.

Cas jumped, dropping the pestle he was using to crush dried crickets. “Shit,” he muttered as it fell to the floor with a sharp crack. That pestle was over 300 years old, the idea of it being damaged  _ now _ because of  _ this _ was highly disquieting. Well, that and the fact he was being interrogated by Dean’s particularly angry sister.

“Oho, shit is right,” Charlie snapped. Cas had no idea that she could be so very cold; Charlie had never been anything but cheerful with him, but now she looked very much like she could murder him. He left the fallen pestle and stepped back, genuinely scared. “You thought you could  _ use _ my brother and get away with it?”

“Use?” Cas spluttered, “How could I do that? Up until yesterday I didn’t even know who he was!”

“Of course you--” Charlie stopped her menacing advance as Cas’ words sunk in, the fist Cas hadn’t even known she was holding slowly unclenching. “...what?”

The other customers, two college guys clearly on a date and another college aged chick browsing alone along a back wall, were all now totally engrossed in the conversation--shouting match--at hand.

Cas shot them a warning look. “Perhaps you save your outburst for later?” he said to Charlie, cocking a head towards the couple, who both looked away and pretended not to be paying attention. Of course, Cas knew better. Nobody milled around the magic shop at this hour unless they were bored and a fight, well, that was quite the remedy to boredom.

“What do you mean, you just figured out who Dean was?” Charlie hissed, very much intent on continuing the conversation. She took a couple steps towards Cas before bending forwards under the pretense of examining Castiel’s neatly organized dream herbs.

“I mean,” Castiel muttered lowly, keeping an eye on the customers in case some wandered too close for comfort, “Up until yesterday, I assumed your brother’s strange behavior came from his position as one of the city’s crime lords.”

A strangled squeak, the remnant of a hysterical laugh, slipped from Charlie’s lips. “How could you not know?”

Castiel shrugged. He was more than used to this question by now, what with his Coven’s shock at his lack of foresight with the matter. “I work nights here, sleep during the day. When I get out, it’s often to meet with witches far older than me to gain supplies and new spells.”

“And you honestly thought he was a criminal?”

“...a nice criminal.”

Charlie stared, an expression of mingled amusement and surprise sprawled across her face. By this point, the customers had grown bored, both of the conversation and the shop in general and Castiel had heard the door chime alert him to their exit. Which was good, this sort of discussion needed to be had clearly and deliberately. “Who else knows?” she asked.

“Just my Coven. And given I’ve threatened to hex them to oblivion if they do anything…” he glanced over his shoulder to guarantee the shop was indeed empty. A necessary precaution, given how much he was on thin ice at the moment. Luckily, aside from a book of love spells out of place (he’d have to remedy that later), everything seemed to be in order.

“Why not exploit him?” Charlie asked, rummaging through the various herb drawers. “Even if you don’t know much about him, you still have to know enough that--”

“I’d rather have Dean,” Castiel interrupted her, voice heavy, “More than money or fame. I asked him about his full name only…” Castiel looked down, ashamed of how the next part of his thought sounded, “...I thought only because I was overthinking the issue, but really I…” he sighed, a lump growing in his throat, “I wanted to know if someone so affluent and popular actually liked me...or if it was simply the products and relative privacy afforded.” He made a sour face, staring intently at a drawer labeled  _ Shells _ . “Dean answered that question well enough.”

To his surprise, Charlie merely laughed. A real laugh this time. “No, from what I heard, my brother just made a complete ass of himself. He said you were going on about who he was when he’d kept his identity secret.”

Castiel’s brow furrowed as he looked up at her. “I said his full name and he ran out the door.”

By now, Charlie was doubled over in hysterics, no doubt amplified by the lateness of the hour. “What...an...idiot…” she gasped between lengthy bursts of laughter.

“Is he angry at me?”

“Not for long,” Charlie whipped out her phone, gleefully dialing a number Cas could only assume was Dean’s.

“I don’t want to bother him--”

“--Oh, trust me, he’s been sulking in his trailer for the last hour, I swear--” she quieted and Cas could hear Dean greeting her on the other end, deep voice disgruntled. With a a wink at Cas, Charlie’s whole demeanor suddenly shifted, her shoulders slumping and eyes downcast. “Dean, thank goodness you picked up!” she cried, the relief audible.

Huh. Acting must run in the family, because Charlie was pretty believable.

“I’m at that magic shop...yes, that one...and Dean, it’s not good.”

“What?” Dean’s voice was harsh and only amplified by the crackle of the phone, “Are you okay?”

“Dean, he’s making demands and I-I don’t know if I can handle it, he keeps asking about you and..”

Cas might have admired Charlie’s acting more if it wasn’t getting more and more worrisome. Somehow he doubted this would really cast him in a good light when it came to Dean. Especially when Dean said “I’ll be there in 15,” before ending the call abruptly. Charlie whirled around to flash a triumphant smile at Cas, who felt as though he was going to be sick.

“He’s going to think I’m a monster,” he whispered, the blood draining from his face, “That I’ve hexed you or something…”

“Aw, c’mon!” Charlie punched his arm in what Cas could only assume was supposed to be a gesture of camaraderie. “That’s just a little white lie to get him to the shop faster, once he’s here it won’t be too hard to talk him down.”

And with that, Charlie settled down to read a book on the history of witch burning evasions as though everything was normal. Resigned to his fate, Castiel tried to sweep the floor, jumping at every squeak of the floorboards.

This hyper-vigilance, however, did nothing to prepare him for Dean slamming the door open with a harsh crack, storming across the room to pin Castiel against the wall, pressing his forearm into Cas’ throat before the witch could even catch his bearings with what had happened.

“ _ What the hell did you do to my sister? _ ” Dean growled, eyes so full of rage that Castiel actually recoiled. He tried to rasp out a response, but between the arm on his windpipe and the sheer inability to articulate a response on the spot, the best he managed was a pathetic sort of gurgle.

Thankfully, the altercation was loud enough to rouse Charlie from her book. She swore as she leapt from the old leather armchair she’d settled into, racing across the room to try to pry Dean’s arm off Cas. “I may have exaggerated that story, Dean!”

“How much?” Dean rumbled, eyes narrowing at Cas.

“Pretty much entirely,” Charlie admitted as she struggled with no avail to tug Dean’s arm away, “He looked so sad he’d offended you and I figured if there was a way to get you here…” 

When Dean showed no sign of moving, Charlie stamped her foot and raised her voice. “Up until yesterday he legitimately thought you were a criminal, Dean. Cas doesn’t  _ care _ that you’re a Winchester.”

That was about the time Castiel lost his focus of the conversation. The lack of air was starting to make his vision grow dark. A small part of him feared death. Melodramatic? Maybe. But he was currently being strangled by a man who was apparently a famous movie star, so anything seemed possible at this point. He caught a glimpse of Dean’s eyes widening and--

“Cas?” Charlie’s voice rang out.

Castiel opened his eyes slowly, panicking briefly over the fact he couldn’t see anything before realizing he was face first in... _ was that someone’s shirt? _ The next thing he noticed as he tried to pull away were two strong arms wrapped around him. Which could only belong to…

Face flaming, Castiel tried to pull out of Dean’s grasp. “I-I’m so sorry--”

From somewhere nearby, Charlie cackled. Dean’s face was equally, if not more, red. “You’re sorry?” Dean gaped, “Dude, I  _ strangled _ you--”

Charlie laughed harder.

“If it helps,” Cas said, “I had no idea Charlie was going to call--”

“--I mean, I can’t believe I strangled you--”

“--and blurting out your name last night was out of line--”

“I was so  _ stupid _ ,” the two finished in unison. Cas locked eyes with Dean as they both dissolved into laughter. He couldn’t help but notice Dean’s arms were still wrapped around him...and he didn’t particularly care. This felt not unlike a dream he would craft for himself.

“I missed you,” Cas admitted quietly.

“I missed you too.”

“Oh, he missed you so much it drove us  _ all _ crazy,” Charlie said cheerfully, stepping up close. Then, for emphasis, she pointedly cleared her throat, glancing at the two of them with a smirk.

Blushing again, Dean carefully let go, though neither of them stepped apart. Just enough to make up for lost time, Cas reasoned. It had been over a month since Dean had really come around, he deserved this.

“So...you really don’t know any of my movies?” Dean asked awkwardly, his palms opening and closing as though he had no idea what to do with his body. Which seemed odd, given Dean’s whole profession seemed to rely on his ability to control these sorts of things. Cas sighed. He must be really making Dean uncomfortable, then.

Stepping away, Cas decided, was the best way to handle this. As an added measure, he made his way back behind the counter to resume crafting another dream. He was aware, however, of the fact Dean always remained in his orbit. “I’m told they’re good,” Cas said nervously, “You were an astronaut or a space cowboy or something in your last film.”

Charlie laughed, Dean gaped. Cas felt oddly self-conscious as he rummaged through the shelves to withdraw some anise seeds. He wasn’t entirely sure what to craft, truth be told he wasn’t banking on Dean coming back, but in his experience, anise seeds were always a good place to start for ensuring a good night’s sleep. When he looked up, Cas found that Dean was still staring.

“You really don’t know who I am,” Dean whispered in shock. Cas shook his head.

“Dream maker, not mind reader,” Cas reminded him gently and Dean’s lips curled into the faintest of grins.

“Then why did you want me around?”

Cas’ brow furrowed as he slid a couple pinches of seeds into a pouch. “I enjoy your company. Is that wrong?”

“No, I...people just don’t usually…” Dean’s eyes found Cas’ and just like being in his arms, Cas felt it impossible to pull away. They stared for a good minute, maybe longer. That is, until Charlie coughed something that sounded suspiciously like  _ *morons* _

“I like that you enjoy my company,” Dean finished finally.

Oh. Good. Cas crushed some dry jasmine petals and added a couple pinches to the bag. “Do you like mine?” he asked abruptly.

“Your what?”

“My...company,” Cas clarified slowly, very much aware of the amused glances being shot his way by Charlie. She was not one to judge. As far as Cas was concerned, Charlie’s wild embellishments of the truth were the reason Dean strangled him at all.

“Why else would I come?” Dean appeared genuinely confused.

“The dreams, I’d imagine,” Cas explained patiently, surprised at how Dean could even ask such a question given he always,  _ always _ bought a dream from Cas.

“Oh.” Dean seemed to be returning to his earlier shade of pink as he fidgeted, palms still curling and uncurling. “Well. Those are fine. But if I had to choose, I’d take you. Hands down.”

“Even though I’m a nobody?”

“You’re not a nobody to me,” Dean huffed, Cas hearing the tell-tale hints of annoyance, “Don’t ever think that. No matter what  _ anyone _ says.”

Cas tilted his head towards Charlie. “She going to lead me astray?” Secretly, though, he was touched. Dean had no reason to care for him. But he did. Which was important, especially as Cas cared for Dean as well. Dean, a movie star, actually cared for him…

“I’m serious,” Dean said, not even a hint of laughter in his voice.

“I know,” Cas assured him, setting down the dream pouch to raise his hands in gentle surrender. “Thank you.”

The conversation fell into a comfortable lull as Castiel finished the dream. It was a simple one this time, merely of Dean spending an unhindered evening at the magic shop itself. “To make up for lost time,” Cas said as he handed the dream to Dean. “Will I get the pleasure of seeing you tomorrow?”

Dean’s shoulders fell and he looked so downcast that Cas regretted bringing it up. “Actually,” Charlie piped up, “We’ve got about a month of filming abroad before the feature wraps. We leave for England tomorrow.”

“And after?” Cas whispered, though from the look of woeful despair on Dean’s face, the answer didn’t seem too promising.

“...I’m sure we’ll work something out,” Charlie said slowly after the silence stretched on for a tenuously long time. As the meaning of her words sunk in, Castiel tried to busy himself with cleaning the dream station, wiping nonexistent dust off the counter tops.

“You’re not coming back,” Cas said finally. He knew he was supposed to be professional. Stiff upper lip. Probably give the dream away on the house, ask them to recommend the shop to their friends. But he was selfish. So very selfish. And all he could think about was how Dean wouldn’t be by anymore, not  _ ever _ , and if Dean wasn’t here, why bother? Why bother with any of it?

And of course, he knew these thoughts were absolutely ridiculous and unwarranted, the guy spent his first day after a month long absence trying to strangle Cas and Cas knew while he was thinking all these things he was probably just staring blankly at Dean--

\--but to his surprise,  _ Dean was staring back _ . Cas blinked, trying to decide if any of this was even real and suddenly Dean was holding out his hand.

“Gimme your phone,” he grunted and Cas was so bewildered that he handed the device to Dean without question. Dean tapped it a couple of times, the tip of his tongue poking out from between his soft lips. “Wait. You gotta unlock it,” he handed the phone back to Cas who obliged. Again, without question.

Dean once again began messing with the phone, green eyes full of intense concentration. Like whatever he was doing was the most important thing in the world.  _ If Dean brought this kind of intensity to his acting _ , Cas thought somewhat hysterically,  _ it was no wonder he’d gotten so popular. _

“Here,” Dean returned the phone, hand lingering briefly against Cas’ during the exchange. “It’s my personal number. Figure that should more than cover tonight’s dream, at least.”

“Dean!” Charlie gasped, “You know you’re supposed you use the spare--”

“--For press and professional contacts,” Dean interrupted smoothly, confidence growing in his voice as he turned away from Cas to face his sister, “For friends I’m allowed to use my personal.”

Hope bloomed in Cas’ chest as Dean called him  _ friend _ , but it was dampened by the skeptical look Charlie shot in his direction. “You just tried to strangle your ‘friend,’ No offense.”

“None taken,” Cas mumbled, staring at the new contact information on his phone, which not only included a phone number, but an email address and even a vague location: Lebanon, Kansas. Dean had gone above and beyond in ensuring Cas would have a way to get ahold of him. If this didn’t signal a restoration of trust, Cas wasn’t sure what did.

“Well,” Dean’s voice now verged on bravado, “Too late now. Cas has seen the number, he’s probably memorized it by now.”

“I haven’t,” Cas assured Charlie.

“But he will,” Dean interjected.

“Dean!” Cas was scandalized.

“Cas!"

They locked eyes again when Dean’s phone rang. Both Dean’s and Charlie’s shoulders fell. “You’ve got to be back on set, huh?”

Dean nodded and Cas realized what this meant. Goodbye. Quite possibly forever. He stood frozen, trying to come up with some sort of eloquent farewell when Dean’s arms wrapped around him for the second time that evening. He was so shocked that he couldn’t even will himself to hug back, but Dean didn’t seem to care.

“This isn’t the end,” Dean whispered, warm breath tickling Cas’ ear before he pulled away and allowed Charlie to drag him out the door, leaving Cas clutching his phone to his chest and whispering a new mantra as he tried to make sense of everything that happened. It was a lot to take in, Dean’s identity, his leaving, his phone number, the strange feelings that stirred in Cas’ heart when he was near...but the mantra helped calm the frenzied storm in Cas’ mind.

_ This isn’t the end. _

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments and kudos are appreciated! And check out my tumblr account @castielsunshinegrace.


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